Why Fran Cherishes Challenge
The Value of Stretch
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Fran watched the young man’s perfect spiral float just beyond his partner’s reach into the dorm’s bushes. His muscular frame suggested physical mastery, yet he cringed. He fumbled the next throw, then cussed and angrily heaved the ball to his partner, who missed the errant pass by two feet.
That frustration during a quick Sunday break after the first week of classes intrigued Fran. She wondered how many young men harbored unrealistic expectations about the ease with which basic football skills are mastered. Perhaps it was the aftermath of too many Sunday afternoon games — games like the one on the black-and-white TV screen flickering in a nearby dorm window.
It was an unusually warm September Sunday, and the muggy air hinted at crisper days ahead.
An occasional green oak leaf, already tinged with yellow, drifted across the thick campus lawn. Classes at the University of Wisconsin - Madison had just begun for the 1994 fall term.
Fran, taking a break from her afternoon walk, sat at one of the picnic tables outside Ogden Hall beneath stately oaks overlooking Lake Mendota. She imagined how many students, each building grand expectations for their lives, had sheltered here.
Three men rounded the corner— grandfather, father, and son, she guessed, their faces marked by prominent, square jaws, walking with a synchronized purpose. As the young man led them into the dorm, Fran wondered about the unspoken pressure he felt to carry on a family legacy, to trace their successful footsteps while establishing a mark of his own.
It was here, back in 1972, that Fran had looked into Lake Mendota’s water, seeking a deeper meaning. But her dream then was simple: independence and equity — independence from traditional “women’s work” and equity in pay and recognition.
These common dreams, mentored by figures like Gloria Steinem, had propelled her through difficult times and partially came true. Yet, there were heartaches she never anticipated, like graduating with no job prospects.
A single, fully yellow oak leaf sliced through the air and landed on her picnic table. She brushed it off, a perfect yellow contrast to the late summer green grass — but still oddly out of place and different.
For Fran, being different had turned out to be mostly a blessing. The third child of Guatemalan emigrants, vividly recalled her first glimpse of the snowy Milwaukee skyline at age five. Her parents, who had the equivalent of a seventh-grade education, used two generations of expertise to build a sound custom furniture business, enabling Fran and her siblings to attend college.
In fact, her success in fields others took for granted gave her a unique sense of accomplishment.
She realized the difference often came down to the amount of stretch required. When expectations are routinely achievable, can their fulfillment sometimes lead to disappointment? But, when pursuing a dream requires true effort and adaptation, doesn’t the result foster satisfaction? Looking back, Fran realized her life had been dotted with surprises, help (like affirmative action), and challenge (necessary stretch).
Fran recalled the time her all-male lab counterparts questioned if she was dragging down their salaries because she was a woman — and paid less.
She also remembered the trick she used as a prominent diabetes researcher: avoiding her first name. Instead of “Fran,” she’d use “FR,” short for “Fran Rosa Pamperus.” It was surprising how much that boosted her call-back percentage from administrative assistants.
Now 73, Fran doesn’t feel the need to recite her accomplishments. She’s been there, done that.
Yet, she doesn’t want the quest to prove or improve herself to end. That continuous push has always driven her to new levels of achievement, even recognizing that she’s probably past her physical peak.
She doesn’t want to lose the edge of expectation — the challenge she’s felt as someone who is somewhat different. That, she realizes, is her legacy.
Fran’s takeaway tip from her story: Cherish and harness the value of stretch.
Here’s to mature-adult living!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Graying”
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When I was a month old, I had escaped death but seemed destined to live life in an institution or with family members because my doctor said I would never walk and go to school due to my cerebral palsy.
When I was four, I still couldn't walk unaided but received my first crutches.
When I was seven, I had to take first grade over again.
When I was 16, going to college was still an open question.
When I was 22, I graduated from the University of Wisconsin - Madison in journalism with honors.
When I was 32, I was self supporting but still living with my parents.
When I was 37, I bought my first condo.
When I was 40, I became vice president of corporate communication for Wisconsin Dairies Cooperative (now Foremost Farms USA).
When I was 41, I married Pam.
When we were 42, Pam and I moved into our new home.
When we were 60, we sold the house and moved into a new condo in downtown Madison, WI.
When we were 77, we relocated to The Pillars of Prospect Park, a senior living community in Minneapolis, to be near family.
Succeeding in what others would consider basic and uneventful in their own lives has given me a sense of accomplishment others may never feel.
* As you look back on your life, what now gives you satisfaction because it was an unexpected accomplishment?